


Bull and Marissa's secrets.

by orphan_account



Category: Bull (TV 2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Past Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You can't keep secrets from Bull, it just isn't possible. As Marissa quickly finds out.





	Bull and Marissa's secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off events that begin in episode 9 (Thanksgiving) of season 2 of Bull (tv series).  
> I do not own Bull or any of its charecters.  
> Italics mean 'thoughts' & this is my First Fic.

You can’t keep secrets from Bull.

Marissa knows this, she has always known this. But when Kyle is missing, and she knows what a fool she’s been, Marissa is hardly thinking straight. As she sits in front of one of the computers at the office, waiting for something -anything- to come up, she hears the elevator doors ‘ping’ and open. _“That’s Bull”_ she thought anxiously, _“Stay cool, stay calm- he can’t know, what would he think of me? Bull cannot find out about this.”_ So when the doctor strode into the room, Marissa steeled herself internally, smoothing her features and trying not to show any of the fiercely raging emotions she felt inside.

“Marissa.” Bull stated, slightly puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just trying to track down someone online, it’s just easier to do it here.” She replied -almost nonchalantly- to her old friend, trying to ignore how his brow was creased from puzzled musings.

"Oh, OK." he paused, then added, looking concerned, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes Bull, everything's fine." she replied internally nervous, but outwardly confident and consoling. He could not find out about any of this.

“Alright,” He made to leave and go into his office, but paused one more time to ask, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes Bull, for goodness’ sake, I’m fine, everything’s fine, you worry too goddamn much.” She snapped, then stopped abruptly, suddenly very aware of how that must have looked to the psychologist. After a split-second decision, she sprang into action; waving him away and plastering a tired look on her face, she murmured a quick ‘sorry’ and continued, “Look just go Bull, OK? I’m fine, just a bit tired, but this can’t really wait for the morning.” As he opened his mouth to protest she quickly added “I’ll go straight home to bed when I’m done, okay?” He nodded slightly, appeased for the time being, and quietly went into his office, after shooting a couple of extra concerned looks in her direction of course.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, she let out a silent sigh of relief, knowing he was worried and on the lookout now, but not overly aware of anything in particular, she considered that mission accomplished. Suddenly a yawn caught her by surprise, she hadn’t been lying to Bull about that- she really was tired; and then it hit her, she had just lied to Bull, extensively. No one lies to Bull. With a sigh, Marissa resigned herself to watching the various programmes and algorithms search, but always come up empty.

 

* * *

 

At around two in the morning, Marissa had given up. Bull was home, having left with only a brief goodnight and a couple more worried glances three and a half hours previous; and most likely asleep. But Marissa was far from sleepy, not anymore. While her body yearned for sleep, telling her as much with another heavy yawn; her anxious mind was still racing. _"I can't find him,"_ she admitted to herself, eventually, _"Now what..."_ Exhausted but still unable to even think about going to sleep, Marissa quietly got up from the desk and began to pack up for the night, or rather the morning. Clicking out the lights one by one and shutting down the computer she had been staring at for the last four hours, the emotional woman made her way unsteadily to the elevator doors.

Even later that night, closer to dawn and daybreak than Marissa would have liked to have still been awake on a normal night; she flopped on her couch, finally home at long last. The traffic had been none existent, but then so had her mind for the duration of the journey back to her apartment. The regular route, if at an irregular time, should have felt natural and normal to her, but instead as she pondered the events of the last twenty-four hours, had felt alien and unreal. It was unnerving. Even her apartment, her home of five years or more, didn't quite seem right. Sighing to herself she abandoned the sofa to wander through to the bedroom, and the bathroom beyond it.

As she slowly stripped off her work clothes and slipped into her nightgown, its comfortable folds almost welcoming her home as she finally began to shake off the unrelenting feeling of on edge. Upon completing her nightly routine, she padded across the soft carpeted floor to her bed, that was waiting in the dark room beyond -she had not bothered to turn the lights on, to only turn them back off again. As she lay down on the pillows and blankets -their soothing warmth and reserved safety blissful after the day she had had- a single thought, dark and foreboding drifted into her tumbling thoughts, freezing her in place. _"This day has been the worst. What am I going to do?"_ And then it was like a dam inside of her was broken, and the first of many tears began to slide down her cheek. She rolled over and let exhaustion overtake her, rather than remain defenceless to old thoughts and feelings as they came crashing in like waves; and soon drifted off into a troubled but deep sleep, the multitude of tears soaking into the cool pillow that rested under her head.

 

* * *

 

Not all that long after, morning came; and soon Marissa's alarm was blaring mercilessly on her bedside table. As she awoke and groggily looked around to switch off her alarm, her feet tangled in the bedsheets and with her twisted flailing to seek out the source of the siren nearby, she promptly tumbled off the soft mattress of her bed onto the punishingly hard floor beside it. Suitably awake Marissa hit out and shut up her still-clamouring alarm, then sat up still wrapped up in her sheets. With a quiet sigh as yesterday's distress began to invade her once more, she labouredly tugged at the white fabric to unravel it from around her legs. Free at last she stood -a little shakily- then wandered through to the bathroom to complete her morning ablutions, after going the toilet and brushing her teeth as she did every morning, Marissa had a quick shower to freshen up and help her feel ready to face the day ahead. It failed.

As she stepped out a towel neatly swaddled around her body, her blonde hair hung loose rather messily -still damp. Moving over the a ottoman beside her bed she brought out her razor and began to shave her legs in manner of one who knew what they were doing, and did so often. But as she finished off the first leg -her left one- and moved over to her right; a shaft of light caught the shining silver edge of the blade, held tightly in it's casing. Marissa sucked in a breath hurriely and swiftly completed her right leg. But as she made the final pass, her hand slipped slightly -maybe from a lack of focus, maybe due to the early hour- and caught her skin, softly slicing through it before she had the time to blink.

For a moment or two Marissa didn't move, or even register the brief flash of pain in any way; it just seemed too casually commonplace for her, it was something she was used to, a sensation she had known intimately for many years. Finally she pulled herself out of her rusting memories of years before to examine the cut. It was small, miniscule really not even bleeding enough to trickle down her leg (as she remembered it doing in times gone by) just beading up a little in a scarlett dotted line. Brushing it away with her fingertips, she sniffed up the sharp scent of her own blood and let it ignite her memories; hardly aware she was doing so, Marissa pressed down harshly onto the small cut, digging into it with her nails, starting a fire of pain in her leg. After a few minutes, even though the inital burst of pain -which had been her goal- was long since done, the blonde sat still, just thinking over the same terrifying thing: _"It helped."_

 

* * *

 

 

After all these years (15 or so now) Marissa was convinced that cuts did not help, at all; and in some ways that was true- but she had forgotten in time the parts that did help. The guilt, shame, anxiety, anger, self-loathing and other hardships that went hand in hand with cutting yourself, were swiftly pushed to the back of her mind as she focused on the sharp pain that she had so enjoyed and relished in moments before. Looking at her razor lying abandoned on the ground by her (now-covered-up-with-a-blanket) legs, she silent eyed the silver blade held in the grip, until eventually she picked it up and began to fiddle with it and get it open. Once free the blade lay in her palm as she just looked at it, all the doubts and negativity surrounding her sadistic pastime rushing back. Desperate for the relief it provided, to just forget -even for a moment- she seized the metal and directed the sharp edge downwards; baring her left wrist she prepared to cut. Then suddenly she stopped, catching sight of the dozens of pale lines that littered the inside of her lower arm. Too thin, too pale, too faded to notice even in broad daylight, but Marissa knew them well; she knew each scar, each mark left by teenage years spent wondering what everone else thought of her, and deciding she was not good enough, by far; she knew them all. As a sigh left her lips the shining metal that represented salvation and peace slid out of her finger and to the carpeted floor.

Overwhelmed all of a sudden, Marissa sank back down onto the bed and cried her heart out into the soft white pillow; after a while the tears dried up and Marissa was glad she hadn't put her makeup on yet that day. Her late night before and the fact that it was Saturday and she had nothing planned, meant the clock in her bedroom currently said half two in the afternoon. As she watched the hands tick round Marissa realised she was hungary, so she slowly stood and made her way to the kitchenette to rustle up some grub. After wolfing a quick sandwich she fetched a glass and filled it with water from the tap, it was cold and refreshing but it wasn't quite enough. Upon pondering this, Marissa let out a quiet sigh of resolution and reached into the drinks cabinet, selected a bottle at random and began to drink -straight from the bottle forgoing the glass this time. Vision swirling along with her stomach, she paused before finishing off the rest of the half full bottle, _"Potent stuff"_ she thought briefly before settling down of the couch to finish off a second and third one.

Draining them one after the other -fiery gulp after fiery gulp- almost out of breath and getting increasingly dizzy, she sat heavily down on the floor, leaning her head on the door frame to her bedroom, not sure as to how she had got there. The carpet was warm and soft, darkness was growing as evening arrived in the city; the strong drink making her drowsy as she took another swig (finishing that bottle- which number it was she had long since lost count) Her gaze lazily flitting around the room- "Everything looks different from this perspective."

Suddenly as the sun dipped behind the horizon and the light changed in the room, a glint of light caught the corner of Marissa's eye. Her gaze zeroed in on it and slowly focused, it took her a while identify the slim object lying on the floor a few feet in front of her slumped body.

 


End file.
